


If I Loved You Less

by lemnerd



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Beacon Hills High School, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, M/M, Senior Derek Hale, Senior Stiles Stilinski, True Love, college decisions, i Wrote this when I was grappling with my own college decisions lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 16:22:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30041448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemnerd/pseuds/lemnerd
Summary: “Oh, come on, Stiles. Not all of us are dating people who we envision marrying and having children with,” she gestures to the left of her, and Stiles turns his head to lock eyes with Derek, giving him a shy wave. He’s wearing a baseball cap that makes his ears stick out ridiculously, it’s the cutest thing ever. Stiles wants to kiss them.“Commitment at this age is just not my thing, especially when everything is temporary right now. I just wanna have fun. I’ll leave commitment to older me. I don’t wanna sacrifice my youth,” Lydia continues, and Stiles feels something shift in his gut.orthe one where Stiles gets his college letters back and doesn’t know how to deal, Derek is a supportive boyfriend, and Jackson, surprisingly, gives good advice.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Lydia Martin/Jackson Whittemore, Scott McCall/Kira Yukimura
Comments: 3
Kudos: 134





	If I Loved You Less

“Hey man!” Stiles greets as he climbs in through Scott’s window. Scott sits up from his lounge on his bed to help him carry the inconspicuous bag of alcohol he has with him. Once Stiles is successfully all the way through the window, he initiates a bro-hug.

“Hey Stiles,” Scott says, far less enthusiastically. Remnants of his breakup with Kira linger throughout his face, his stiff mouth and red eyes. He’s slouched over - _Stiles_ is supposed to be the one with the fucked up posture - and his grin has lost its tilt. 

“You look like shit,” Stiles diagnoses, “but that’s why I brought beer! And yours is laced with wolfsbane.” Stiles then shouts very loudly and emphatically, “I- I mean, water! I brought you WATER, Scott. Because I am a responsible adult who would never - I’m a good Christian boy- ”

“My mom’s at work, Stiles,” Scott laughs.

“Oh thank God,” Stiles breathes, “why did I even say that - I’m not even Christian.” And then he chucks a can of beer at Scott’s laughing face.

It takes half a can for Scott to start rambling about Kira, “it was mutual”, and “we’re going off to college soon”. Stiles tries very hard to be supportive and chime in every now and again, but it has him thinking of his own relationship with Derek, and he doesn’t like the icky feelings that swirl in his stomach. Senior year is, unfortunately, the year where it all comes to an end. The last chapter of the book entitled _Teenagehood_ and with it, end friendships and relationships that were built to last a fake, temporary ‘forever’.

He and Derek have wrapped themselves so tightly around each other, that he doesn’t allow himself to think of what will happen when they inevitably have to untwine.

They end up playing Halo until way too late, and Stiles is about to reach for another can when Scott’s mom opens the door to his bedroom.

“Mom!” Scott flounders, as she takes in the beer cans on the floor. “I thought we talked about knocking!”

Melissa crosses her arms. “Forgive me for thinking that you would be asleep at two o’clock in the morning. Hi Stiles, by the way.”

“Hi Mrs. McCall! We were just - we were having - so basically, I fell in a hole, and- ”

“I don’t want to know,” she sighs, “I don’t _care_ . I know you kids drink. I was a teenager once, believe it or not. But it’s _two in the morning_. Stiles, stay here until you sober up and then you’re driving your ass home. You both have school tomorrow.”

“Yes ma’am,” Stiles says, as she closes the door. He looks at Scott, “since when did Mama McCall get so chill about this stuff?”

“Since you barfed all over her shoes and blamed it on food poisoning,” Scott says monotonously, “and then when she asked you what you ate and why you smelt like alcohol, you said, and I _quote_ , ‘The food poisoning is because I had some bad Chinese food. The alcohol is because I’ve been drinking, but that’s unrelated, Mrs McCall.’”

Stiles smacks his head with his palm. “I’m an idiot. I’m gonna go get some water,” he announces and Scott groans tiredly, flopping onto his bed.

Stiles anticipates the head rush as he gets up, but it still makes him feel woozy. He makes his way downstairs at a snail’s pace, then heads to the kitchen for a glass of water. As he drinks his water, he unlocks his phone, checking through texts from Derek, Instagram stories, and then he reaches his emails. He freezes.

  
  


_Duke University Admissions_

_Dear Mieczysław,_

_Greetings from Duke University! We have some very good news for you._

_The admissions committee has reviewed your application and I am delighted to tell you-_

“Oh fuck!” Stiles yells, dropping the glass of water. His vision gets blurrier and blurrier, and he can’t tell if it’s because tears are filling his eyes or because he’s shaking so hard. His chest feels so tight, and he can’t tell if he’s relieved or terrified - if he’s ecstatic or devastated.

Scott tumbles down the stairs, wolfed out, along with his mother. “Stiles! What happened? Are you okay?!”

He puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder, worry in his alpha-red eyes, and Stiles trembles as he says, “I got into Duke.”

Scott exclaims, clearly ecstatic and Melissa pulls him into a celebratory hug, and he’s so overwhelmed that he starts sobbing.

&.

“This is _bullshit_ ,” Stiles starts, glaring at the plant pots placed in front of him. The dim bulb of the veterinary clinic buzzes methodically overhead. “I find out I have some magic powers and you want me to use them to fucking _garden_?”

Deaton raises an eyebrow, “I wish you weren’t so profane in your language, Mr Stilinski. You need to learn how to channel your spark to grow herbs.”

“Grow _herbs_ \- like oregano?” Kira asks, eyes wide.

“No, not fucking oregano, Kira -” Stiles starts.

“Deaton, can you teach him how to grow parsley?” Mason requests, “we’re low on groceries right now and my mom wants to make pasta -”

“Why do I allow you kids to come to these magic lessons,” Stiles grumbles. Ever since he found out he had a spark, it seemed like the mere _acknowledgement_ of his spark, the awareness that he has some magic inside of him, made him more susceptible to certain energies. Small things like mountain ash manifested themselves into feeling the exact moment in which the season changes, knowing how to brew certain healing teas and medicines without any prior instruction and if his mood is uplifted enough, he can encourage certain plants to sprout out of the ground. Sometimes, with carefully undivided concentration, he can hear what the trees are whispering about.

“Take these three pots,” Deaton instructs, ignoring the bickering from before, “and place them in areas of personal significance - places of concentrated personal energy. So, for instance, the home of a loved one or a particularly sentimental place. It’ll give the sprouts enough magic to feed on since your magic seems to stem directly from your emotions.”

“This feels like a fourth-grade science project,” Stiles says petulantly but is already mapping out the significant places to put the pots, “and why isn’t Lydia being given any tasks to do?”

“I don’t need to learn how to grow plants when I can literally hear dead people, Stiles,” Lydia says whilst continuing to text on her phone. 

“Touché.”

&.

Stiles wordlessly puts the first pot on Derek’s windowsill and Derek, used to his antics, doesn’t ask any questions. 

Well, he does ask one question:

"How do you make bromobenzene from benzene?" Derek all but growls, smacking his head against the desk. Stiles is fresh out of the shower, in his boyfriend’s sweats and a shirt that’s way too big for him. He loves wearing Derek’s clothes, and Derek loves complaining about how he’s running out of things to wear since he keeps stealing them. But Stiles knows that it’s all a grumpy act and Derek loves it when he smells like him.

"You use an aluminium bromide halogen carrier," Stiles says absently, tucking himself into Derek’s bed, laptop in tow. "Seriously, D, take a break. You've been glaring at your textbook for way too long."

Derek turns from glaring at his textbook to glaring at his boyfriend. Stiles will never get over how attractive he looks, pencil pressed to his bottom lip, frown obviously exaggerated and cheeks pink as he runs his eyes over what he can see of Stiles’ body.

"Wanna Netflix and chill?" Stiles asks, wiggling his eyebrows at his disgruntled partner. Derek huffs.

He turns back to his textbook, running his eyes over the same page he’s been looking at for the past twenty minutes. "No, I wanna study for this chemistry quiz."

"You're not gonna retain any information if you're sulking like that, Sourwolf."

Derek crosses his arm from his desk. "I invite you into my home and you steal my bed, leech off of my Wi-Fi, wear one of my shirts which, by the way, is obscenely too big for you, and on top of all of that, you critique my studying technique."

Stiles grins. "Would you prefer it if I took the shirt off instead?"

Derek blushes. He flounders for a bit before settling on, "I'd prefer it if you explained the concept of electrophilic addition to me." 

Stiles moves to hop out of bed but stills as he gets an email notification.

_Duke University Newsletter_

_We’re excited to see you on campus in the Fall-_

Stiles swallows the bile that rises in his throat, shuts his laptop and forces himself out of bed. He pulls up a chair and sits at the desk. Derek watches every single one of these movements, concern creasing his brows.

“Are you okay? What was that?” Derek asks, and Stiles pulls out a pen, writes ‘ELECTROPHILIC ADDITION’ into Derek’s notebook, neatly, and says:

“It was nothing.”

"If you keep glaring at me every time I write an equation I'm gonna start taking it personally." 

"I'm not glaring at you." Derek looks down to where his boyfriend's legs are draped across his lap, torso stretched out to reveal more skin. He places a hand, deliberately and emphatically, on Stiles' thigh. Stiles isn’t gonna lie, he’s starting to feel a little hot and bothered - what with the werewolf growling and the way Derek keeps looking at him. 

So it doesn’t surprise him in the slightest when Derek pushes the textbook off of his desk and stands up, pulling Stiles out of his chair and basically throwing him to sit on top of the desk in place of the textbook.

Stiles grins, entertained. "Are you done fighting the urge to make out with me - mmm."

Derek licks into his boyfriend's mouth and buries a hand in his hair. The other hand cradles his hip through the oversized pants. Stiles kisses back immediately, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck.

Derek pulls back just to say, “Maybe if you wore _your own clothes_ we would’ve lasted more than,” he checks the clock, “half an hour before having sex.”

Stiles grins. “You love it.”

“It drives me _nuts_ ,” Derek says roughly. Stiles tugs on Derek’s hair until he growls and dips down to run his teeth along the expanse of his throat. 

"Oh - fuck, Derek,” Stiles pants, and he _really_ hopes Derek’s parents aren’t home because there’s no way of hiding sex from werewolves, no matter how quiet you are.

And then Derek pulls his shirt off and starts kissing down his body, and Stiles’ mind completely blanks. 

Well, almost.

He tries to get lost completely in the feeling of everything and let his body relax, but every time he closes his eyes, it’s there. Etched onto the back of his eyelids.

_We’re excited to see you on campus in the Fall!_

&.

“Ah, there you are. Sit, sit.” Isaac beckons to him as he gets to their usual lunch spot.

“What did I miss?” Stiles asks, dryly, sliding in next to Danny. He just spent his entire free period snuggled up with Derek in the back of his car. Stiles was exhausted so they pulled out the blanket he keeps in the trunk and took a nap together. It made Stiles feel warm and content, but he didn’t want to neglect his friends, hence he’s spending lunch with them.

“Liam wants to know-”

“No, shut the fuck up Isaac!” Liam reaches over and slaps Isaac on the head. Scott bursts out laughing, and Stiles is just so confused but he laughs at their shenanigans anyway.

“Liam wants to try dating dudes,” Scott explains helpfully, “and he wanted to know if you have any - ow, stop, Liam, I’m your Alpha! - any guys for him to go out with.”

Liam miserably tucks his head into his hands and Stiles, confused, asks, “what happened with Hayden?”

“We broke up,” Liam groans, and, Jesus, why is everyone breaking up these days?

“I’m so sorry, that sucks, man,” Stiles consoles, and the others hum in agreement. “The only other dude I know who’s into dudes, aside from _my_ dude, is Danny, and I’m not sure if - ”

“Not gonna happen,” Danny says, sympathetically, “sorry Liam. No offense, but you’re _young_ , and I’m going off to college soon.”

“Speaking of college,” Isaac starts conspiratorially, “have you guys heard back from any more colleges?”

There’s a flurry of conversation that Stiles doesn’t really care to register, as he starts eating his burger. Scott starts talking about veterinary school, and the different options for courses in Boston. Isaac mentions a few business schools and then Danny says, “I got rejected from Duke,” and the table falls silent.

“I’m sorry man,” Scott starts, eyeing Stiles.

“It’s all good,” Danny says, “it would’ve been an amazing opportunity though, especially for computer science. But Duke has an eight percent acceptance rate - you’d have to be _mega_ smart to get accepted. Man, if they accepted me, I would’ve packed my bags and left in a heartbeat. I mean what an opportunity.”

Stiles’ senses disappear like raindrops in the sun. His breathing starts to become more and more ragged as he takes in this new information. The words _opportunity_ and _mega smart_ echo throughout his mind, and for the first time, he fully sees how lucky he is - and how much he doesn’t want it.

Liam furrows his brows, “Didn’t someone else from our friends apply to Duke?”

And this is the part where Stiles curses his existence, sitting at a table surrounded by werewolves. He has very few moves here but to tell the truth. They can _hear_ when he’s lying. They’ll know that he got in, no matter what. He’s way too anxious to calm his heartbeat down to something even resembling steady. There’s too many holes in the conversation and he needs an exit strategy, needs a distraction, a diversion, anything -

And as he’s about to open his mouth, Greenberg rushes up to the table, frantic, and says, “Danny, did you do the fucking math homework?” And Stiles has never been more relieved to see Greenberg in his life.

&. 

In the midst of all this, Stiles completely forgets that he hasn’t told his father the news yet.

He’s received three more decision letters, all of which he emphatically decides to avoid at all costs. He’s already reeling from the Duke acceptance. He can’t subject himself to any more. A college letter is a messed up way to remind you that your life is going to completely reset in September, that the friendships you’ve accumulated will end up dwindling out into the occasional ‘hey, how are you?’ texts every few months. It’s inevitable. No matter how much he wants to believe that he’ll keep in contact with his friends, they’ll all be too busy for each other, and their lives will branch out into complicated twists and turns and in ten years they’ll do a little reunion and that’ll be it. No more Beacon Hills.

No more Derek.

Stiles tries not to let his face crumple as he places the second plant pot on his mother’s side of his parents’ bed. What place could be more sentimental than the dusty bedside table of the late Claudia Stilinski? The table still has the last book she ever read, Emma by Jane Austen, open at the last page she ever read. Stiles and his father refuse to touch it. Sometimes, Stiles will stand at the table, reading the page over and over again.

_“I cannot make speeches, Emma...If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me.”_

His dad walks into the room as Stiles finishes reading the heart wrenching sentence, and a wave of pain pulls his face into a frown.

“What’re you,” his dad’s voice cracks. He clears his throat, “what’re you doing, son?”

Stiles shoots him the biggest smile he can plaster onto his face. “Gardening. Deaton’s request.”

“Why here?” the Sheriff asks.

“I just, you know, the sunlight. On mom’s side of the bed. It’s great.” Stiles rambles, and his father very carefully doesn’t point out that the bedroom has no windows.

And after a beat of uncomfortable, dragging silence, Stiles blurts, “I got into Duke.”

His dad’s face lights up and he pulls Stiles into a hug, and he says words like ‘ _so_ proud of you,’ and ‘you deserve it, I knew you’d get in,’ and Stiles just, can’t take it. He pulls away, and braces himself for the raw emotion that builds up in his throat.

“I gotta go,” he croaks, and God, his voice sounds worse than he expected, “it’s Lydia’s eighteenth birthday bash, and you know how much of a big deal that is. I’ll be back at eleven,”

And then he leaves.

  
“Sorry I’m late,” Stiles announces, but it’s not like his voice can be heard over the loudspeakers anyway. “Happy birthday to the queen,” and he drops a kiss on Lydia’s head, along with the gift he bought her. She looks stunning, as always, in a classic black dress and some impossibly tall heels. 

“You look pouty,” Lydia observes.

“You look sober,” Stiles counters, and Lydia grins. 

“I hate drinking,” she agrees, and Stiles throws a disbelieving look at the massive keg in the middle of her living room.

“That was Jackson’s idea,” Lydia explains, shouting over Normani.

“Why’re you still with that asshole? I don’t- he’s a douche-rat.” Stiles flails his arms around and accidentally smacks one of them into someone, “Sorry!” he says in their general direction.

“I don’t actually know,” Lydia says, looking philosophical, as if she’s never thought about this before, “I like the validation.”

Stiles looks at her incredulously.

“Oh, come on, Stiles. Not all of us are dating people who we envision marrying and having children with,” she gestures to the left of her, and Stiles turns his head to see who she’s pointing at. He locks eyes with Derek, giving him a shy wave, which he reciprocates. He’s wearing a baseball cap that makes his ears stick out ridiculously, it’s the cutest thing ever. Stiles wants to kiss them. 

“Commitment at this age is just not my thing, especially when everything is temporary right now. I just wanna have fun and be with assholes for the sake of it. I’ll leave commitment to older me. I don’t wanna sacrifice my youth,” Lydia continues, and Stiles feels something shift in his gut. He tries to find the words to reply, to counter, but he can’t. In the time that she says this, Derek makes his way over, two cups in his hand. 

He kisses Stiles’ cheek, hands him a drink and says, “Werewolf hearing is just not meant for this kind of setting. Lydia, is it cool if we step out for a second?” And Lydia nods boredly.

Stiles allows Derek to guide him outside, but as they’re passing, he catches a glimpse at Scott and Kira making out on one of the couches, and he shares an incredulous look with Derek. Derek shrugs, taking his free hand in his own and taking them through the front into the Martins’ massive yard. A sudden quiet surrounds them and it feels nice - he didn’t realize how loud the party was. There are still people, but they’re all in little bubbles, lost in their own little worlds. Derek’s staring at him, a tilt to his mouth.

“What?” Stiles says, then takes a sip of the mysterious liquid Derek got for him. It turns out to be peach Schnapps, his _favorite_ , and his heart breaks a little at how well Derek knows him.

“Nothing,” Derek hums, then drains the rest of his drink. He looks so attractive, tight black shirt accentuating his muscles, “you just clean up nice.”

Stiles glances down at his outfit. About fifty percent of the clothing he’s wearing belongs to Derek, including the _Fast and Furious_ graphic tee. “Are the shoes mine or yours? I forget.” And it _aches_ so much. They share each other’s clothes and know each other’s favorite foods and places and how the other likes their coffee. 

“Mine,” Derek says with a grin. Seventy-five percent, then. “I think those might be the only item of clothing you’ve actually _asked_ for before you took from me.”

Stiles flicks the brim of his boyfriend’s hat, grinning. “Boyfriend privilege. I like this hat, by the way.” Then swiftly removes it from Derek’s head, placing it backwards on his own.

Derek laughs, pulling Stiles in for a kiss. And he loves him. And it’s so overwhelming, he doesn’t know what else to do, other than put a hand on his chest and kiss him back. And as they kiss, Stiles, for the first time, feels like he’s sinking, rather than floating. It’s too much, the affection he’s committed himself too, when he knows it’ll eventually come to an end. He _can’t_ hurt Derek like this. He pulls away, gasping, and Derek has definitely noticed the tonal shift because he’s gazing at him with so much worry, so much _love_ , that it makes him let out a sob.

“I love you,” Stiles starts, and the party feels long-forgotten.

“I love you too,” Derek says, wild, automatic, like it’s a no-brainer, “what’s wrong?”

“I got into Duke,” Stiles admits, and marvels at how easily the pent-up words ended up coming out of him. He continues, “I got into Duke and I, I just don’t know what to do, Derek, I mean, it’s my dream school but I, I can’t _leave_ you - I can’t just go to North Carolina-”

And Stiles has expected this to go many ways. He’s expected hurt looks, storming out, tears, anger. But he never expected the look of delight and the gentle pull of the solid warmth of Derek’s hug. He pulls away, just to put Stiles’ drink down on a table, because Stiles is shaking so much that it’s spilling everywhere, and he resumes the hug. 

“Uh. Um, um-” Stiles expresses eloquently, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.

“I am so _fucking_ happy for you,” Derek says, and _what._

“What.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Derek repeats slowly, “I love you and I’m so - I’m _elated_ ,”

 _Elated_. “Are… are you reading Laura’s British crime novels again, because I’m pretty sure that’s the only time I’ve seen the word ‘elated’ actually used in a sentence - ”

Derek pulls back, then thumbs at Stiles’ tears. He places a tender kiss on his forehead, and says, “Shut up, I’m whatever word that can convey how proud I am of you for getting into your dream school.”

“But… it’s all the way across the country,” Stiles rasps.

“We’ll figure it out,” he promises. He rests his forehead on Stiles’. “Whatever you want, Stiles. Whatever makes you happy. We’ll figure it out.”

&.

They end up taking a break. 

“It isn’t healthy for you to make the biggest choice you’ve ever had to make in your life when there isn’t any distance between us, Stiles. It’ll cloud your decision-making.” Derek had reasoned.

Which - Stiles understands. He’s just so incredibly miserable. He misses Derek and his bunny teeth and the glasses he wears when he’s at home and can’t be bothered to wear his contacts. He misses cuddling up together to watch another episode of Love Island or The Bachelor, something utterly _terrible_ that they can bitch about together. He misses awkward dinner with his family and his werewolf tendencies - scenting, nuzzling, licking.

And it’s not like Derek just up and left. They still see each other at school. They still wave at each other and it’s just so much harder because of how entwined their lives are and how their friend groups overlap and how they even both signed up for fucking _chess club_ together. They have a joint Spotify subscription and Derek has his own Netflix profile on Stiles’ account. But Stiles _has_ to use the time Derek so graciously offered him to make this college decision. 

So he researches the hell out of Duke. He looks at flights to North Carolina, he goes through student forums, he reads every email they sent him up until now, thoroughly. He says fuck it and opens all of the other college decisions he’s received thus far. His eyes widen when he realizes he’s basically overwhelmed himself with even more choices.

When he applied to college, he had a completely different mindset than now. He was so ambitious, so ready to leave Beacon Hills. With every essay he wrote and every application he submitted, he felt closer, more accomplished. And now he’s clinging onto whatever he has left.

“You look like shit, Stilinski,” Jackson greets, and Stiles curses every single day that he has to live with Jackson’s locker right next to his own. He’s the first person he sees in the morning - it’s the worst.

“Fuck you,” Stiles grumbles, not in the mood. He shoves his lacrosse kit into his locker and pulls out his physics textbook.

“No, seriously. You okay?” Jackson asks. Stiles turns to him, bewildered.

“Since when have you ever cared about my well-being?”

“I don’t,” Jackson says, “but if you’re sulking, Lydia will sulk and then I’ll have a lower probability of getting laid.”

Stiles turns back to his locker and rolls his eyes. “You’re the reason why capital punishment is still legal in the state of California, assmuffin.”

“Assmuffin,” Jackson echoes, “McCall, tell your loser friend to come up with better insults.”

Stiles turns to see Scott walking up to them, a mixture of confusion and concern on his face. He frowns, looking between Jackson and Stiles, then gives Stiles his undivided attention, asking, “Are you okay?”

“I’m tired,” Stiles says, “I also have a physics test today.”

“You love physics,” Scott says, skeptically.

“Yeah, but not particle physics-”

“You literally want to major in particle physics in college.”

“Oh wow, will you look at that, the bell rang -”

“I’m pretty sure the bell didn’t ring, dude.”

“- and I need to get to class - ”

“Don’t you have a free period first?”

“Scott,” Stiles sighs, “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m sorry.”

Scott nods. “That’s understandable, bro.”

Stiles inhales, “I just, I told Derek about Duke,”

Jackson snorts. “Is Duke some guy you’re banging?”

“Why the fuck are you still here.” Stiles glares at him. “And no, Duke as in the university, you categorical dumbass.”

Jackson’s eyes widen. “Holy shit, Stilinski, you got into Duke?!”

“I hate it here.”

“Shut up, Jackson, man,” Scott says, anger in his voice, “Stiles isn’t comfortable with everyone knowing.”

“Why wouldn’t he be comfortable with everyone - ” Scott’s expression hardens, so Jackson turns to address Stiles, “why wouldn’t you be comfortable with everyone knowing?"

“Because maybe I don’t want people to think I’m showing off or being an asshole?”

Jackson sneers. “First of all, you don’t need to try very hard to be an asshole. Second of all, you got into Duke on your own merit, or whatever messed up way you got in - maybe you paid the admissions officers, I don’t give a fuck. Point is, every other fucking senior in this school, apart from Greenberg, he’s a creep, has applied to college and we’re anxiously waiting for our decision letters. Nobody gives a shit about you. So even if you went on the intercom right now and told everyone in the school that you got into Duke, only the people who actually care about you and your future would give a shit. The rest would just go back to their normal lives.”

“That was worded so terribly but that’s… actually pretty solid advice, Jackson.” Stiles says, sharing a look with Scott.

He scowls. “I’m just saying that your problems and achievements only matter to people who care about you, so fuck everybody else and what they have to say.”

“You should be a motivational speaker,” Stiles agrees, “wait - did you just admit to caring about me?! This is monumental, this is momentous, this is a cause for celebra-”

Stiles groans in pain as Jackson shoves his head into the door of a locker. 

&.

One day, Stiles reads the whole of Jane Austen’s Emma on his kindle. He cries.

Then he texts Derek, _I miss you_.

He cries even harder when, moments later, Derek replies, _I miss you too_.

&.

“You look drained, Mr Stilinski,” Deaton observes.

Stiles has been trying to make a potion for two hours, damn right he’s drained.

Stiles sighs. “Deaton, what do you do when you’re making a really big decision? Like I _want_ to be somewhere but I feel like I _should_ be somewhere else.”

Deaton lets a silence fall upon them, then he says, cryptically, “You will find, Stiles, that the more you contemplate, the more you realize that those two places, where you _want_ to be and where you _should_ be, are one and the same.”

&.

When the earth starts to exhale the winter and inhale the spring, Stiles wakes up at exactly 1:23am.

The wind is blowing outside of his window, and he lets himself be reminded of everything that’ll come this spring. Exams, graduation, goodbyes. Apologies. The prerequisite to the most intense summer one can have, the summer after graduation. 

Stiles puts on his _Fast and Furious_ graphic tee, some jeans, and starts driving. Once he reaches the Hale house, a _beast_ of a mansion that holds Stiles’ second family, he locates Derek’s window like its second nature. Derek’s windowsill. Their first kiss. 

He pulls out the ladder they keep in the garage because they both like to at least pretend that Derek’s parents aren’t painfully aware of when Stiles sneaks into the house. He starts climbing, and before he reaches the top, the window opens and Derek’s mussed hair and sleepy expression greet him with furrowed brows. Wordlessly, he helps Stiles in through the window, and rubs his eyes a few times.

“ _You_ make me happy,” Stiles says.

Derek looks disorientated. “What? Stiles, it’s one in the morning.”

“You make me so deliriously happy, Derek Hale. There isn’t a single atom - there isn’t a single _quark_ in my body that doesn’t want you.”

“What the fuck is a quark?” Derek says quietly.

“You’re not listening, I’ll explain later - it’s a fundamental particle,” Stiles says, “but the point is, I don’t _care_ about Duke. I don’t want Duke. I want _you_ ,”

“It’s your dream school,” Derek says, hesitantly. There’s an air of self-deprecation, and he takes Stiles’ hands into his own to stop him from waving them around. “You can’t give up your dream school for me, Stiles. That’s just not practical.”

“It is my dream school,” Stiles agrees, “but you’re my dream _person_ . And I can get a degree from anywhere in the world, but I’ll never be able to find anyone who I love as much as I love you. I can’t - I want _you_ in my future. And when I told you I got in, you were _happy_ for me. No matter how much it hurt. I just need to be with _you_ , whether I’m at community college or fucking Harvard, I don’t care, I’m happy when I’m with you and that’s enough.”

“But you can still go,” Derek says, “to Duke, I mean. You can still go and we can wait and if we’re really meant to be, we’ll be together.”

“I know. And in a few months I might decide to go, I don’t know. Everything is so fucking uncertain, but no matter how much I’ll wanna go, I’ll always want you more. When I picture my future, I can’t see the emblem on my diploma. I don’t know, or _care_ for that matter, where I end up getting it from. But I picture _you_ in my future, not some random, faceless person. I guess I’m trying to say that you were all I’ve ever wanted before I even knew what Duke was.”

Derek nuzzles his way into Stiles’ throat and squeezes him until he squeaks. They stay like that for a while, and Stiles glances at the plant pot on the windowsill. It’s literally been a month, but there’s been absolutely no growth or sprouting at _all_. Stiles is about to bitch, but then he remembers.

“Oh shit,” he says.

“What?” Derek asks, alert.

“I didn’t plant any seeds into the plant pots - I just left a pot of dirt on your windowsill and expected it to grow.” Derek starts laughing and they giggle quietly into the darkness until they’re interrupted by a hard knock on the door.

“I don’t know what you two are doing in there,” Talia Hale, Derek’s mom says, “but I need you two to make yourselves decent and get out of my house, away from werewolf hearing. I need my beauty sleep.”

&. 

6 Months Later  
  


“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Stiles curses, and Derek laughs, taking the box from Stiles’ hands effortlessly and depositing it in Stiles’ new dorm.

It’s incredibly surreal, to be moving away from home and moving into _college_ , the very place he’s been so terrified of for so long. He puts his hands on his hips and examines all the new boxes scattered around. Derek opens the box titled ‘clothes’ with a smirk, and his eyes go soft when he pulls out one of Derek’s faded shirts. He sits cross-legged on the floor, and pulls Stiles down to sit on his lap, kissing him.

Once Stiles got his decision letters back from the UC schools, it was pretty much set in stone that Stiles was going to UC Berkeley. It’s close to home, in the same state as Beacon Hills, and Derek’s aspirational school has always been UC Davis, which is only a one hour drive away. 

He doesn’t think he was ever truly set on Duke. All the pressure, all the nagging at the back of his head just came from the prestige of the university, he thinks. The fact that names like Duke and Harvard and Yale have been shoved down his throat ever since he was a kid.

It couldn’t have worked out better for them, Stiles thinks, all things considered. And Scott went to study in Massachusetts - that was an incredibly tough goodbye - but he didn’t go alone. Lydia, who finally broke up with Jackson,and Danny are both going to college in that same area. Isaac took a gap year, deciding at the last minute that college may just not be his thing. And that’s okay. 

Stiles whispers ‘I love you’ into Derek’s clavicle, and Derek smiles so hard, he out-beats the sun. 

“Ready to go?” Derek asks, preparing for a one-hour drive to Davis so they can unload into Derek’s dorm.

“Yep,” Stiles nods. Then he double-takes. “I have one more thing to do, though, hold on.”

And then Stiles pulls out the third plant pot that Deaton gave him, some seeds, and Derek laughs so hard he cries.

**Author's Note:**

> this was kinda my own way of writing out how i feel about the college application process, as someone who’s going to college in the fall. being a senior is bittersweet on so many ways. and i couldn’t resist Derek as a senior in high school. he’s just adorable.


End file.
